The Job's Never Done
by Avis Rae
Summary: In which Clint trains, Natasha soothes, and I have feels. Pure fluff. Set after the movie. Clintasha.


_A/N: Hello, puny Earthlings. (: So I watched The Avengers and completely fell in love with it. And since then I have watched it a second time, and I'm planning to watch it again in 3D. However until my craving for all things Avengers and Scarlett Johannson, I decided to (finally) write a fic about the couple that have become my OTP in the fandom. It may be a little OOC, mind you, I'm not entirely sure how Natasha/Clint would respond. I will learn, with time. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! Enjoy. (:_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. Are you crazy? Clint and Natasha would've had babies by now.**_

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The Job's Never Done

_Thud._

_Thud._

The punching bag shook violently with each blow of his fist. The sound of flesh connecting with cloth vibrated throughout the empty gym, seeming a lot louder than when it was bustling with energy, with agents training tirelessly in the day.

_Thud._

_Thud._

Clint wiped the sweat off his forehead before continuing to attack the punching bag. Punch after punch he threw. He was tired, but he couldn't stop training. He already was out of practice after Fury forced him to take it easy when Natasha knocked him out.

Speak of the devil. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow appear in the doorway, alerting him that he was not alone.

"So this is where you've been hiding."

Clint didn't look up, instead giving the bag another punch.

"Outta practice," he breathed. "Gotta get back in shape." She didn't really respond, just let out a understanding 'mmhmm'.

"Why aren't you up celebrating? I'm pretty sure that the premium Russian vodka in the back of the fridge's calling your name." Clint said, throwing punches in between words. He didn't need to say that it was he who bought the vodka. She knew.

"Well, I figured that drinking and subsequently getting drunk wouldn't do me much good, especially since I have to go back to Russia tomorrow to finish my interrogation." _This_ threw Clint off. "What?" He turned to his partner, gaping. He used his right hand to steady the punching bag, trying to digest the news. She was leaving? _Tomorrow? _Clint walked to Natasha, who was leaning against the doorframe, unwrapping the bandage around his hand as he did so.

"Why are you leaving again so soon?" He stopped in front of her, studying her emerald green orbs. She shrugged.

"Coulson paged me in the middle of an interrogation to summon the Avengers, since you were, well… compromised." He lowered his eyes at that, as the feeling of self-loathe came rushing back to him. _He had used his own bow and arrow to kill some of his own. _He thought that no other betrayal could be greater than that.

"Hey." Natasha cupped his face, and lifted it so that she could see his grey eyes. "It wasn't you." She said, looking at each eye in turn. He sighed, and scratched his head. "I know," he replied unconvincingly, "but all those people that I-"

"_Clint." _She stopped him before he could say anything more. "Clint, _it wasn't your fault._ You know what Loki was using was inhuman. No amount of preparation or prep talk or training could have prevented this from happening." She searched his eyes. "You got it?" She asked softly. He nodded, closing his eyes. "Now, are we gonna stop talking about this? Because I do remember having this conversation with you before." She reprimanded him. Clint opened his eyes and let out a short laugh. He had known she wouldn't be soft for very long. "Yes m'am." He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. He was rewarded with a small smile in return, and suddenly he remembered that she was leaving the next day.

"Wait, hold up. You're not escaping this topic, Tasha." Clint grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he made his way back upstairs. "But first let me shower and change, and we'll continue this conversation later."

Half an hour and one shower later, Clint returned to his room and found Natasha still in her uniform sitting on his bed, noting- with gratification- that she was sipping a cup of the Russian vodka. He knew it was the one he bought, because she rarely drank anything else.

"What happened to 'I'm not drinking because I'm professional and professionals don't drink before missions'?" Clint ruffled his hair with his towel and locked his door.

"Change of plans. And one glass of wine isn't gonna get me drunk." Her eyes followed him as he hung up his towel and sat down beside her. For a boy, Clint was neat. Except for the shirt that was thrown haphazardly across the room, everything else was pretty much in place.

"So tell me why you gotta go on a mission so soon again?" He repeated his earlier question. She sighed and laid back on his bed.

"I need to finish getting that information. It's important, and S.H.I.E.L.D needs it as soon as possible. And now that Loki's back in Asgard, I'm back on the case. I obviously can't can't the same people, so I need to track down who else I can pry the information out from…" Her voice trailed off, and her brow furrowed.

"Fury's not making this easy for you, huh."

"No, but I don't need easy. I like a challenge." Clint nodded slowly.

"Well, you be careful, and all that." He nudged her leg, and she smirked.

"I will." The tone was light, but he had meant it. He really didn't want her to come back injured, or worse, not come back at all. Clint turned to look her in the eye, and the atmosphere instantly changed. "I promise." Natasha almost whispered. Clint stared at her a bit longer, then stood up.

"Come on. You gotta sleep if you're gonna kick ass tomorrow." He held out his hand for her, but Natasha just pushed herself off the bed. "I think I can stand up by myself, thanks." There was that smirk again. Then she sobered up a little and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

"See you in a week, Barton." He pulled her into a full hug, burying his head in her neck, holding her as close as possible.

"See you, Romanoff." He released her, then watched her slide out of his room and disappear.

_-One week later-_

_Oomph._

Clint pinned Tony down in the boxing ring, grinning. Tony held his hands up in surrender.

"Nice try, man." Clint stood up and held out hand to help Tony up. Tony nodded to him. "Nice work, Barton – Glad to see you can still beat me without the suit." He winked at Clint, and Clint rolled his eyes.

"If I had a suit and we decided to spar, Stark, I'm pretty damn sure I'd still kick your ass." Clint smirked.

"Don't push your luck, Barton – I'm not even coming close to thinking about constructing another suit." Tony called over his shoulder as he exited the gym. Clint packed his things and went up to his room to take a shower.

He swung open his door, and had to blink a few times before finally registering the red- haired girl sitting on his bed.

He felt his mouth twist into a gigantic smile and in two large strides he was in front of her, and swooped her up into a hug.

"Welcome back, Romanoff."


End file.
